Beaten
by CSIMorganders
Summary: What happens when fate turns to pain? When a loss so painful, that it brings you to kill? This is the story of the case that changed Greg Sanders life. In no way do I own CSI or the characters within the franchise.
1. Prologue

Pain. Blow after blow, knocking me into a deep trance. How did it get this way?

It all started 3 weeks ago. I had just found out my best friend had been thwarted. I raced to the scene, until I saw her icy-cold body lying there. On the scene, paramedics walked away from her motionless body, beads of sweat covering their foreheads like spread. Their shirts were covered in red, crimson blood. Maroon-covered tissues and defibrillators were left limply around her stiff body. I gave one of the EMT's a look that said it all. He removed his stained gloves, shook his head, and apologized.

Why is life like this? Ripping away everything close to you, taking anything that you hold dear to you, and abolishing it into thin air? Approaching her body, I took a shivered breath.

I observed the corpse, like it was a victim from one of my own cases. She was still wearing what she had during our last shift. I crouched down, hovering my hands over her head. I know I can't touch her. Her once perfect golden blonde hair was laced with gravel, making it look like a rustic, dirty brown shade. Bruises covered her cheeks and forehead, cuts slightly affecting her round beautiful face. She had a deep cut in her pink, pale lips, making the lower part of her face, plastered in a deep red. Her knuckles were rooted, showing that she put up a fight. She had always been feisty with me about her love for LA and my passion for Las Vegas history.

Shedding a tear, I wiped it off blatantly. Heading towards my Black Denali, I slam the door. Bowing my head in shame, I recount the last time I had spoken to her. How could I have let this happen?

_**Thanks for reading the prologue guys! What do you think? PS: Comment?**  
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	2. Chapter I

It had been three days since that happened, and I've haven't slept since. The days have been a blur. More victims, more criminals, but yet… no leads.

I slammed my locker and quickly grabbed her case files. Today was Morgan's autopsy. Breathing in, I headed towards the coroner's office.

Once in, I grab a lab coat and approach, ignoring comments from Doc Robbins like, "_wanting to have had a better vision or view of her" _or "_that it would be better, as a friend's advice, to stay away."_ I knew he was right, but giving in would have let Morgan down.

Her body was clean of sorts, no make-up, no blood, no ripped clothing. A blank canvas. I ignored my personal feelings towards her… but her appearance reminds me of the past. The way her smile gave me butterflies, the time she held my hand to set me straight. She was my love, but now, she's gone.

Inhaling once more, pinching the bridge of my nose, and covering my mouth, I storm out. Grabbing the evidence from my desk, I head home. I feel demeaning eyes observing me, all over the Crime Lab… but they know what I am going through as well. Whoever did this, is messing with the wrong CSI.

_**Section 2:**_

It has been eighteen days. I rub my eyes in exhaustion, I needed sleep. I closed my laptop screen and enclosed the opened file folders. My small yet decent apartment needed to be cleaned. Bad. I head to my room.

I grabbed a towel and entered the bathroom. Tossing my things on the counter, I stare into the white-rimmed mirror of my restroom. My usual "spiked-up" sandy hair had darkened and sat plainly on my tanned, pale forehead. Sweat covered my face. My once brown eyes were pale and blood-shot. Bags hung under my eyes like chandeliers. If I didn't have a decent taste in clothing, you would have mistaken me for a homeless person.

I set the shower to cold, (warm water would just put me to sleep). I strip down and head in, the cold water washing over the deep scars that enveloped my back from the lab explosion. It was the old days, my crazy shirts, white lab coat, and porcupine-like hair had pointed me out like a sore blister. I used to blast rock music, and keep nothing organized. One day, Catherine had left a piece of evidence in the wrong fume hood, when I turned around, the glass shattered; fumes escaped the box, getting rid of everything in it's way... including me.

Thirty minutes passed and I dried off and dressed.

Falling on my bed, I stare at my alabaster ceiling. I can't sleep, not without this solve. I wrapped a pillow around my face, letting every feeling go.

Nothing has hurt more, than this.


	3. Chapter II

_**Okay guys, I forgot to add that this story is kinda pushing the "Fannysmackin'" incident to the future... if you're confused.**_

Beep! Beep! Beep! I shoot up from my bed, turning off my alarm. Rubbing my sluggish eyes, I gaze towards the clock. 5:01 PM. Normally I would have woken up later; because of my glorious job that starts at 8:00 PM-6:00 AM, so I woke up earlier today for more time to research.

Getting ready for work, I slip on dark jeans and a white button-up dress-shirt. Choosing a black, smooth blazer, I move to my large kitchen bar. Seeing my messy arrangement of files from last night, I set my coat on a seat.

Making a cup of coffee, I mix in my favorite Blue Hawaiian mix. Pouring the mixture into a gray cup, I smell the deep aroma, already waking me up.

Sitting on a bar stool, I open the tangerine folders. Logging onto a computer, I research: _bashings in Las Vegas_. Several pages appear, showing the stories we leaked to the _CNN News Crew_.

Sighing, I shut the laptop once again and my phone vibrates on the marble counter. Flipping it over towards me, it shows I have a message.

**GREG, I KNOW YOU'RE UP. I NEED YOU TO PICK UP **

**EVIDENCE AT SMITH & WEST STREET. YOU'LL SEE **

**THE CRIME TAPE.**

**-DB RUSSELL**

Sliding on my FORENSICS vest, I grab my files and keys. Heading to the crime scene I pass a dark alley. Hearing a blood-curling scream, I back up. Looking to my right, I see a fairly large group of people, beating up a man.

Backing up, I head into the alley shining my lights and honking my horn. They all scram off... except for one. He turns around, showing more of his face than the back of his obsidian colored hood. His eyes were dead, piercing into any soul that looked upon them. My breath caught in my throat and he picks up a large rock. Holding it above the helpless man, he looks at me. The rock is now heading towards my car, high above his head. He is trying to _murder_ me_._ In defence, I step on the pedal, hitting him in return. He immediately falls back and I stop.

Time slows down. Something was watching, paying attention. A loud crash was heard. I turned around, the back of my car's window was shattered. They had come back.

_**Part 2:**_

The front window had broke, and they pulled me out of the car. I struggled, this can't happen to me too. They start by punching me in my gut, I cough out and they push me to the ground. Picking me up, they push me to the fence. Punching in the old scars was a large outcome from this, making me wince in pain. Once again, I am thrown to the ground. They kicked, punched, spit, pulled, and everything in between. This is where I am now. Everything that I have ever been through, the explosions, gun shots, grenades, Warrick and Morgan's deaths, but nothing compared to this. This is what _she_ felt.

After they were satisfied, they got into their own cars and left. I cough out a red fluid, staring into the bold lights of their cars. One of them nicked my Denali, leaving a perfect sample of their car's pink paint.

I close my eyes, darkness taking it's toll. I feel limp, lifeless. I drift off, closing in on any life.

**_Part 3:_**

I feel something, no, someone. "Sara?" I finally speak out. "Yeah? I didn't know you could see me." she responds. "I can't, I know that sudden scent." "I'm going to take that as a compliment." she says, her voice shaking a bit. I then inform her of the clues. Spit on the vest, skin cells under my fingernails, the laceration on my car... "I came here for you, Greg." she says. I nod, lifting my hand and she holds it.

Inside, I weep, but in the open… I seem tough. Undefeated, I close my eyes, and breathe in through one of my nasal passages. Fear seems to linger right by me, trying to take everything that I cherish dearly.

Soon enough, the luminous brim of life passes throughout my system… taking away my consciousness and availability of my surroundings, forcing me into a deep dormancy.

**_Part 4:_**

Waking up, I feel the gaze of my supervisor, DB Russell. His glasses sat on his older face, ivory white hair sticking on his head. "Russell" I say, looking out of only one eye, knowing that my bruised body can't give anymore visual information. "Another day at the office huh?" he says. "At least I can see now." He gives me a look. "The guy that got beat up, how is he?" "He's gonna be fine" he says, pulling a weight off my chest. "What about the other guy? The guy I hit?" I question. "His name is Demetrius James. He's in surgery." "Is he like a gang-banger or something?" I wonder out loud. DB frowns and responds, "Actually, he's a student at the university." What? "Is he gonna be OK?" I ask back, ignoring confusion. "I don't know." I thank him, we conversate about my parents, and he exits… leaving me to revel with questions.

I had just survived this, and yet Morgan didn't? Is this what the world does to us? How can a kid have gotten to a point to kill? What is his parents like?

Closing my eyes again, the darkness comes over once more.


End file.
